


A Knife in the Dark

by Innin



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Blow Jobs, Knifeplay, M/M, light kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 13:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18142706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innin/pseuds/Innin
Summary: During the team's journey to Odense, Emil is on nightwatch duty. Lalli makes it more interesting.





	A Knife in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Title blatantly stolen from Tolkien, fic idea from [this](http://indigo-night-wisp.tumblr.com/post/183471957502/robbstark-just-once-i-wanna-put-the-blade-of-my).

Emil frowns into the grainy darkness. 

Nightwatch practice is one of Sigrun's dumber ideas as far as Emil is concerned, and he wishes he at least had a lantern or a flashlight, but she didn't allow that, saying that his eyes will adjust to the starlit night soon enough, and that any more light will ruin his night-view. It should be near morning now, and he hasn't gotten used to it yet, apart from the gnarled silhouettes of trees against the slightly lighter sky. At least that means he won't see any trolls nearby before they tear him to pieces, either. Maybe that's a mercy. He wonders how Lalli goes out there again night after night to scout.

A rustle sounds somewhere in the Sjælland glade they've parked in, something moving over the past year's leaves. Emil's heartbeat speeds up, his breath turns shallow, he feels dizzy as he grabs the pommel of his sword and loosens it in its sheath, wondering just briefly if they'll hear him screaming inside the tank. He thinks he deserves credit for not screaming yet. 

Another rustle, this time behind him, and closer, then next again just noiseless darkness, but still shivering with the presence of something moving in it. Emil glimpses over his shoulder, still can't see a damn thing, eases his sword free and freezes at the soft rasp the edge makes sliding out of the leather scabbard, then lifts it in front of him. He tries not to whimper. 

Then - a blur of movement from the corner of his eye, pale and too quick to react to, the ring of metal striking metal, and his sword goes flying out of his grasp into the darkness. 

"What?!" Now Emil is whimpering. He edges back against a tree behind him, then freezes entirely.

Cold metal comes to rest against his chin, just the tip of - Emil squints down - the tip of his own sword - tilting his head up and baring his throat ever so slightly, the shimmer of a white uniform, dark elbow-length gloves, dark, high boots, fading out of the darkness. Lalli's pale face, one corner of his mouth quirked up in an almost-smile, his eyes intent - intense - and so, so close, on Emil's face. 

Emil's knees nearly buckle, partially with relief, partially with… heat, flaring stark and insistent through his entire body. He keeps himself upright by sheer force of will, his fingers digging into the craggy bark of a tree behind him, breathes out and closes his eyes. Heartbeat thumps loud and heavy through his chest.

Apparently satisfied, Lalli leaves him a little more space, Emil notices in the release of pressure from the blade, but instead he trails a thin, hot, sharp line down the center of Emil's throat.The tip of his sword digs into the dip between his collarbones, and for the moment stays there. Every time Emil swallows, it jumps, just a fraction, so he holds himself very still, but by now he has a different problem. 

This shouldn't be half as terrifyingly hot as it is. 

He's stirring, half hard already, probably, and Lalli is going to notice. He's going to notice, because he's moving closer, close enough to whisper in Emil's ear, a brush of lips against the shell of his ear that is anything but an accident. 

"Your eyes… _open_." His Swedish is still broken, but that is a command if Emil ever heard one, and the undertone in it is a whole different level of command, the type that turns more of Emil's breathless fear into a thrill. He knows that Lalli would never hurt him - much - but still, a sword… that's new, even for Lalli. 

Emil breathes as deeply as he dares, and opens his eyes. Lalli's eyes are wide and bright and gorgeous in the darkness, glowing almost like cat eyes do. Because the night swallows all the colours Emil can't be sure, but if is a flush on Lalli's cheeks, that's certainly not from running alone. 

Their eyes lock, and finally, finally Lalli moves the sword. He trails it back up, and this time rests the flat of the cold blade against Emil's lips in a gesture that is unmistakable, and silly, and doing the rest to get Emil fully hard, chafing against his underwear. He groans. "Lalli…" 

In response, the pressure against his lips increases, a gesture that's easy enough to understand. Emil breathes out, then presses a kiss against the blade - that's what Lalli wants, and Lalli nods, removes the sword, and pulls a gloved hand through Emil's hair, a downward tug that takes Emil to his knees more certainly than any spoken word would. The leaves rustle as he drops down.

Lalli lets him wait a breathless moment, two, three. Emil grasps his hips, noses at Lalli through the fabric of his pants, and suddenly cannot wait to put his mouth to action, to the faint scent of clean sweat from running and Lalli's arousal. Little enough as it is, Emil's head swims with it, and he makes to free Lalli out of his pants.

Only to be stopped by the now-familiar sting under his chin. Lalli has put the blade there again, and this time he doesn't relinquish the pressure, tips Emil's head up, and studies his face. 

Emil can only imagine how he must look - mouth open, flushed, wide-eyed desire and a little fear in his expression, hair a little mussed. Oh yes, Emil can imagine why Lalli might appreciate that as much as he plainly does. His eyes still seem to glow, his lips purse in a soft, private smile.

"Please? Lalli?" Emil mouths, half-breathless by now. He is so hard he's starting to ache, the back of his neck is beginning to strain, the sword digs a little deeper, a little warning, perhaps to hold still, be still, because Lalli hasn't drunk in his fill of the sight yet, teasing out a little more anticipation.

Then Lalli's free hand comes down warm through his glove on the back of Emil's head, at the same time that the sword vanishes, and Emil can't help a flood of gratitude to finally have Lalli.

Until the sword comes back, lightly against his throat just as Emil takes Lalli in, savouring him on his tongue.

Well then. He'll just have to be careful.


End file.
